


It’s Funny, He Thinks

by BabyGenius



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gore, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Rape/Non-con, Kodos (mentioned), Macbeth - Freeform, Tarsus IV, Tarsus IV Survivor(s) (Star Trek) - Freeform, Tragedy, but it’s blink and you miss it, coz writing/reading that makes me feel icky, implied minor character death, jk there’s like no comfort, references to it at least - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26382193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyGenius/pseuds/BabyGenius
Summary: It’s funny, he thinks, gazing up at the night sky.  If he strains his eyes, his weak, failing eyes, he can pick out the ion storm blocking any attempt at salvation.....The world fell and he felt helpless.But he turned to those he had in his care, to those he had saved with stumbling, tripping sprints and heaving lungs gulping desperate, weak breaths of air.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & His Kids
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	It’s Funny, He Thinks

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Don’t worry, the next part of ABIAWC is in the works, and I’m at least partially done with it. The next part to what was originally meant to be a Merlin one shot (Wherein Chairs and Dancing) is also being worked on, albeit a bit more slowly. 
> 
> This one just snuck up on me in the middle of classes, so I wound up typing it all in my notes since I was so eager. Admittedly, it’s also a bit over the place, but I feel like it works for the subject matter and the writing style. 
> 
> This one’s also a little shorter than I usually do, but that’s fine because to make it any longer would have been drawing it out and would have felt a little forced. 
> 
> Also, don’t forget that I made a jewelry shop! I’m on Insta as @fairyqueendezigns, and am thinking about making a tumblr for the shop as well.
> 
> Side Note: I listened to some part of the Deathly Hallows 2 soundtrack while writing this, the one that’s ominous and I think leads up before the battle? Idk, I couldn’t see the screen coz I was in another room trying and failing to pay attention to my zoom class. So, if you want something to listen to, that sets the mood nicely...  
> Happy reading and I hope you enjoy!

It’s funny, he thinks, gazing up at the night sky. If he strains his eyes, his weak, failing eyes, he can pick out the ion storm blocking any attempt at salvation.

It’s funny, he thinks, silent sobs wracking his already trembling body. They’ve lost another. Little Faik, who grinned even when the sounds of screams and phasers were carried to them by the wind. Even as she sacrificed what meager portion they could give her to feed one of the younger ones. It’s funny because people seem to think that his life should be perfect. He is, after all, the child of a hero, they tell him (it never felt like it, he thinks selfishly, it only felt like another person who knew he wasn’t worth it, but this one knew it before he was born).

He’s grown up, lines of red on his back and paintings in technicolor on his body, being told that he’s lucky for who he is.

He doesn’t feel very lucky.

No, it’s not luck when the trees shiver in the dead air, almost as if they can _feel_ the horrors taking place on their home. It’s completely silent, a world mourning what’s happening.

Mourning that a small, thirteen year old boy, who has already been through so much, is forced to clap his hands over a child’s mouth to silence xem before xe gives away their position.

A small boy, corn husk hair brittle and dull, holds a phaser like a seasoned soldier, walks with a broken ankle as though nothing’s wrong.

The world— _his_ world—had crashed in a cacophony of screams. Pleas for mercy and the panicked air of parents who pushed their children at the one person they hoped, prayed with all their hearts could keep their babies safe.

The world fell around him and all he could do was watch with quietly muted terror, his heart thumping as he pushed the children into an alley (“ _Go, go, go_ ,” muttered violently but quietly, praying they wouldn’t get caught).

The world fell and he felt helpless.

But he turned to those he had in his care, to those he had saved with stumbling, tripping sprints and heaving lungs gulping desperate, weak breaths of air.

He _could help **them**_.

He gives his heart, his soul, into keeping them alive.

Into keeping them safe.

But little by little, his heart and soul crack as he has less to keep alive.

* * *

The sounds seem muted. After all, nothing could compare to the volume of the day the world fell. The way every scream seemed to pierce his eardrums. Every muted thud seemed like the percussion of a drum right by his ear.

His strength fails as his hope does. His limited food portions given to those who need it more (everyone needs it more, he’s not special, he thinks with a sneer) ( _But everyone else thinks you are_ , his traitorous thoughts whisper.)

Andy, only a month shy of being the same age, watches him with a mournful gaze that he ignores. Watches him until she’s so out of it from the infection raging her body that there’s no soul to watch him with anymore, the only thing left a husk, whimpering and sleeping, comatose until she fades into the dead night.

Zheshe, quiet but fierce (only ten), does the only thing she knows how and leans up against him. He can’t feel the warmth of her skin anymore, her body too exhausted to produce any, but he appreciates the pressure and the gesture. At least, he thinks he would, if he thought he could feel anything anymore. The pressure vanishes when she does, falling behind with not enough precious time to waste in picking her up. The phaser blasts following them cut short with howls of pleasure as they catch up to her, and he forces himself to herd the children away, his mouth set in a grim line even as his shoulder craves the pressure she offered.

* * *

They’ve learned by now to muffle their cries, those who still have tears left.

They know by now that there’s no comfort to be gained from hugs; cold hugs made of bones that stab and skin that feels like dried, brittle leather. They still try, though; try to find comfort in sharp hugs where there’s none to be found.

* * *

Any semblance of hope has left them long before now. Now, the only reason behind their continued existence is to cause as much trouble as possible for as long as they can.

If the governor is going to win it’s going to be a battle fought by children, clawing and screaming and _refusing_ to go quietly into that good night.

The world has fallen around them, and all they can try to do is live in this fallen world of theirs.

* * *

It’s funny, he thinks, as shuttlepods touch down, officers in bright, eye-searing primary colors pouring out, some immediately turning green—their cheeks puffing up with bile they try to hold back—at the sight of the blood-stained courtyard (the governor had tried to get it all out, but, just like Macbeth, not even the full of Neptune’s seas or oceans could wash away the red that stains his hands).

It’s funny, as he sees the sea-blue eyes of Chris Pike reflecting horror back at him, his own broadcasting steely, beaten determination as he determined whether he trusted them with his kids.

Pike’s eyes widen before his jaw clenches and he follows him through the forest to his kids. His kids.

The ones who had lived, at least.

It’s funny, he reflects, thinking back to a governor patting him on the back for being so smart. A governor whose eyes were solemn as he was given the crop report by the boy; a governor who promised (“You _promised_!” He wants to scream brokenly, his voice still cracking in its adolescence as his eyes radiated betrayal), _promised_ he would call Starfleet.

A governor who _lied_.

 _It’s funny_ , he thinks as he sits in the medbay, fighting doctors who think they know better (they _don’t_ ).

But it’s not, is it?

It’s not funny at all.

**Author's Note:**

> So let me know what you think! I’m curious to see what you think about the writing style, because it’s pretty different from the humor I usually use. Plus, I tried to make it seem a little more detached, if that makes sense? I dunno, I think it worked.
> 
> If you have any questions or just wanna talk about fandom things then I’m on tumblr as Blerghfish. I’m always open to a chat about my fandoms, or to questions or whatever, even if you just need someone to talk/rant/vent to.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you’re all as safe as possible in these times. 
> 
> Don’t forget to check out the jewelry shop I mentioned in my above notes!


End file.
